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She ordered her cloak from the butler. A footman went to signal her driver. When Emma dared to turn, she found dozens of pairs of eyes focused on her. They looked down from the landing of the first floor. She offered them all a curtsy, then closed her eyes as Mr. Jones swept her cloak around her shoulders.
"I shall wait outside."
He followed her, stubborn boy.
"Why are you doing this?"
His eyes no longer met hers, his head tilted down toward the pale stone of the walk. "I had thought . . ." An icy breeze blew his hair awry and made him shiver. "I had thought perhaps your wildness would grow tempered with time. You are enjoying your first weeks in London, I know. And I. . . My income is respectable. My uncle holds an old title."
"Mr. Jones—"
"I'd even taken the step of trying to locate your family, to make inquiries . .."
Her sympathy froze to shock. "You what?"
"I wished to make the acquaintance of your family, in order to—"
"My father is dead."
"Yes, I am sorry. Terribly sorry. But I had thought to—"
"You could have asked me. Why did you . . . ? To whom did you write?"
He looked utterly confused. "I am sorry, Lady Denmore. I wasn't sure. You are still in half mourning. I did not think it appropriate to press my suit until the summer."
"Whom did you contact?"
"The local magistrate. A Mr. Bromley."
Wheels crunched somewhere to her left. Turning, Emma watched as the hired carriage stopped a few feet away. The driver hopped down and opened the door.
Emma unlocked her jaw. "I apologize for this evening. You will excuse me? I have a private dinner to attend."
When the carriage door closed, Mr. Jones still stood there, staring down, arms crossed to hold off the cold. Emma did not know what to do, so she let the coach move on toward Osbourne's home.
When another vehicle rolled past, turning into the Tunwitty's drive, Emma glanced out in time to see the golden, outstretched wings of a solemn hawk flying through the night. The Somerhart hawk on the Somerhart crest. The duke's carriage had arrived.
Emma let her head fall to her hands. She breathed in the sharp metal scent of dirty coin and thanked God that she had left so quickly. She had shamed him, and he would never forgive her. And suddenly she felt very afraid.
Chapter 16
"Must you leave so early? It is only past twelve," Lady Osbourne insisted.
Osbourne placed a hand on his wife's arm. "Let her go to her tables. The girl has a gift. We mustn't stifle it."
"Oh, you are encouraging her to be a dreadful gambler, Osbourne. Hush."
Emma smiled at them and told herself she really must rise from the warm comfort of the fire and be gone. No gambling tonight, but there were preparations to be made. And she felt odd, not herself, but her lethargy was part of the oddness as well. She felt pulled down, heavy and weary.
The Osbournes continued their affectionate bickering. She would miss them so much. Her uncle had told her that theirs had not been a love match; in fact, they'd quite hated each other for several years. But after the birth of their first child, a daughter, something had changed for them. Animosity had been transformed to love, and it had lasted for forty years now.
Lady Osbourne could no longer travel comfortably to their country house. Three days in a carriage caused her hip to ache terribly for weeks on end, so Lord Osbourne had given up his months of hunting in the north, and they stayed in London all year. Together.
Emma sighed, knowing she could not leave with just a casual farewell. She'd come to care deeply for them.
"Actually," she started, "I will be leaving town. Tomorrow, I think."
"Oh," Lady Osbourne gasped, "but you will be back in time for our ball, won't you? It's the first ball after Easter and I intend for it to be a complete crush."
